


Christmas Lights

by Pigzxo



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Oliver and Connor go on a date to some big winter tree lighting and they drink hot cocoa and eat sweets and are just cute and Connor being all gentleman like and paying for stuff in front of the normal gang? (Bonus points for amusement park games and Connor winning a big stuffed animal with his sports skillz)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Lights

“Oh my god, it’s cold,” Oliver said.

            Connor smiled, watched his boyfriend’s breath cloud in front of them. He wrapped an arm around Oliver’s shoulders and pulled him close. Oliver’s hands, rolled into tiny balls in his mittens, pressed into Connor’s chest, nestled under the folds of his scarf. Oliver nuzzled his nose into Connor’s shoulder, his breath shaking both of them.

            “It’s not that cold, Ollie.”

            “It’s like ten degrees.”

            “Might’ve been better had you worn a hat,” Connor said. He pressed a gloved hand to his boyfriend’s bright red ears as he dragged him further into the crowd of people.

            “I’m not wearing that awful yellow hat,” Oliver mumbled. He squeezed closer to Connor as the crowd rustled them.

            The path they were on was covered with snow, lined with brightly striped booths. The tree could be seen from every angle, towered over everyone below it. Decorations glinted in the streetlights, but the tree hadn’t been lit yet. It stood like a dark cloud at the centre of a wheel, all its spokes filled with vendors and greasy food and cold couples stumbling through the crowd.

            Connor dragged Oliver over to a booth selling drinks and ordered two hot chocolates. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, ignored whatever Oliver was trying to say about paying. Two bills stuffed in a glass fishbowl, he took the two drinks, thanked the girl behind the counter, and nudged Oliver upright. “Drink,” he said.

            Oliver took the cup and made a low sound as the warmth seeped into his fingers. Connor tried not to laugh at his boyfriend. They headed for the tree, sipping hot chocolate, Oliver slowly warming enough to not be tied to Connor’s hip, not that Connor let him move away. He kept his hand firmly on Oliver’s waist, held him close in the crowd. He’d lose him otherwise. He was almost sure of it.

            “Hey! You made it,” Michaela said. She threw her arms around both of them and then stepped back with a smile. “Cold?”

            “Freezing,” Oliver said.

            Michaela turned over her shoulder and yelled, “Asher!”

            Asher looked up at her, annoyed at being torn away from what Connor was sure was a scintillating conversation with a blonde co-ed. Michaela gestured for him to come over and Asher excused himself, a shit-eating grin on his face, to walk over to them. “What’s up? I think I had a chance with her.”

            “Aren’t you with Bonnie?” Connor asked.

            Asher shrugged. “Yeah, but, you know. Back-up plan in case it all goes to hell again.”

            “That’s sweet.”

            Asher stuck out his tongue. “What do you want?”

            Michaela said, “Oliver’s cold.”

            “Open the lid,” Asher said. He fished a thin bottle of amaretto from the back pocket of his jeans and gestured to Oliver’s cup of hot chocolate. Oliver’s fingers fumbled over the lid, but he handed over his cup and Asher poured in a generous amount before tipping back the bottle and screwing on the cap. “Back to the hunt.”

            “There’s gotta be something illegal about that,” Connor said.

            “Straight people aren’t illegal,” Michaela said.

            “Unfortunately,” Connor muttered. He watched as Asher approached the girl again, probably with some big apology ready. “Hey, Asher!” he shouted. Asher turned to look at him. “You remember to bring the ointment for your rash?”

            Oliver hit him in the chest with the back of his hand. Michaela covered her smile, leather-covered fingers pinching her cheek. The girl made herself scarce. And Asher looked back at him with shock, frozen to the spot for a solid minute before he looked back over his shoulder to explain to the long gone girl.

            “Come on,” Oliver said. “Before he kills you.”

            Connor laughed and let himself be pulled along a different string of stalls. As he stopped to buy Oliver a funnel cake, something he insisted he could pay for himself, Laurel bumped into them. “Hey,” she said. “You guys the first ones here?”

            “We’re avoiding Asher,” Connor said.

            “Connor cock-blocked him,” Oliver said.

            Laurel screwed up her face. “Jealous?”

            Oliver laughed but Connor kissed the top of his head all the same, to make sure he knew it was nothing but a joke. Then he shoved the funnel cake into Oliver’s hands and they walked Laurel back to the group around the tree. Michaela had her hand pressed to her forehead, her eyes closed as Asher talked. Wes nodded along to his words, but clearly wasn’t listening. Connor slapped his hand onto Asher’s shoulder as they approached.

            “You have a girlfriend,” he said. “Get over it.”

            Asher shook him off, muttered something unintelligible.

            “How long until they light the tree?” Wes asked.

            “Got somewhere else to be, waitlist?”

            Wes shrugged. “We’ve got a test tomorrow.”

            The whole group groaned. Oliver laughed. He opened the lid on his hot chocolate again so Asher could pour in more amaretto, even though he’d already taken off his gloves. His cheeks were a ruddy red, his smile bright in the streetlights.

            “Five more minutes,” Laurel said. “Then the tree will be lit and you can go back to being a hermit, okay?”

            Wes rolled his eyes.

            They stood talking for a while, trading class stories, and shutting Asher up every time he started to grumble about the girl again. Oliver joined the conversation easily, probably more easily than normal since his drink was just alcohol now, the hot chocolate long gone. Connor stayed by his side, bumped his hip every once in a while just to make sure he was steady. Then an announcer called them to attention and they backed out to form a circle around the tree.

            The announcer flicked the switch and the tree came to life. The lights started at the bottom, ran around the thickest part of the tree, red, green, white, yellow, blue, and back through the cycle again. A hurricane of colour circled the tree, flew to the top until the star burst into golden light. The crowd cheered.

            “Now you can go home,” Laurel said to Wes. “Or, you know, you could stop being such a wet blanket.”

            Again, he rolled his eyes at her.

            “Let’s play some of the games,” Oliver said.

            “What?” Connor said. He looked over at his boyfriend, who was smiling like a little kid on Christmas morning. “You’re drunk.”

            “There’s a game where you can hit bottles with a ball,” Oliver said. He dragged Connor towards the stall, the rest of the group on their heels. “You’ve gotta get all of them, I think, to win. But I think I can do it.”

            Connor laughed. “You’re drunk. Let me do it.”

            Oliver made a “pfft” sound that slurred at the edges. They stopped in front of the booth, a bored teenager staring up at them. “Yeah, because you can do it.”

            “I have... sports skills.”

            “Sports skills,” Oliver repeated, deadpan.

            “You’re drunk,” Connor snapped. He shot a glare at Asher over his shoulder. “Did you have to do this to him?”

            Asher shrugged. “Fair’s fair.”

            Connor stared at him for a moment. “You do realize him being drunk is good for me, right?” He smirked as he turned back to the teenager at the booth and fished out his wallet. He handed her twenty bucks, enough for ten balls, because he had less confidence in his sports skills than he had declared. The teenager stepped to the side and pulled out her phone.

            The group waited in silence as Connor picked up the first ball. He turned it over in his hand, tested the weight of the white plastic. After a moment, Oliver’s lips pressed close to his ear and he whispered, “You’re supposed to throw it.”

            “Back off, dork,” Connor said with a smile. He shrugged his shoulders, shook out his arms, and threw.

            Missed. Spectacularly. Hit the back of the booth and nearly toppled it. Connor felt the hiccup of Oliver’s hidden laugh at his side, heard Laurel’s sharp cackle behind him. “Shut up,” he said. He lobbed the next ball and nicked the side of one of the bottles. Nothing came crashing down.

            “Might actually want to try to hit something,” Laurel said.

            “Aim for the centre of the pyramid,” Michaela suggested.

            “I don’t think he can aim in the first place,” Laurel said.

            Connor ignored them and grabbed the next ball. Oliver pressed close against his shoulder, whispered some advice in his ear. Not that Connor could make any sense of his words when he slurred like that. All he knew was that Oliver’s hot breath on his ear was distracting when he was trying to throw a ball. Come on. He could do this. He wasn’t completely useless when it came to sports; he just didn’t particularly _like_ sports, aside from the tight outfits.

            Now he was distracting himself.

            He threw the ball, missed the pyramid he was aiming for, but the ball bounced off the back wall and into the second pyramid in the row. All six bottles tumbled down and the group cheered, Oliver loud in his ear. “That counts, right?” Connor asked. The teenager nodded, distracted.

            “Next one,” Oliver said. He handed Connor the ball and blew on it for luck.

            Connor hit the top bottle of the first pyramid and it toppled. The next ball got two more from that section and two more balls got the last three bottles. Good thing he had bought so many balls.

            “Six more to go,” Laurel said. Her voice rose at the end and he knew she’d been drinking from Asher’s bottle.

            Connor tossed the ball from hand to hand, eyed the last pyramid. Three balls to hit six bottles. Easy. Except when he missed the first shot, nowhere near the target. “Forget how to throw?” Laurel asked.

            “Quiet,” Connor snapped. Oliver handed him the next ball, pressed his lips into the fabric of Connor’s coat. “And you, off.” Oliver stepped back, his hands raised in a shaky surrender.

            Connor took a deep breath and threw. He hit the top bottle in the pyramid and it toppled, leaving five behind. Connor swore under his breath. He could feel the entire group staring at the five bottles left. He’d already won a stuffed animal. Five more bottles only meant that he could take the biggest one there, the giant stuffed snowman that was half his height. And he wanted it, if only for the way Oliver kept staring at it, drunk and out of it, but shifting between staring at the snowman and Connor.

            “Last ball,” Laurel said. “Don’t choke.”

            “Thanks,” Connor growled.

            Oliver blew on the ball for luck again and pressed it into the palm of Connor’s hand. His brown eyes were melted chocolate, a small grin on his lips. Connor let himself focus on the cold of his boyfriend’s fingers, the way their breath pooled together in the cold air. Then he took the ball, turned back to the pyramid, and threw. No thoughts, no focus, no aim. It was luck. It had to be pure luck or it would never happen.

            And the ball hit the pyramid.

            All but one bottle toppled.

            “Are you kidding me?”

            “I call a redo.”

            “That _sucks._ ”

            “There’s gotta be... I mean, it’s one bottle!”

            Connor sighed and Oliver’s head came down on his shoulder. He pecked him on the top of his head and whispered, “Sorry.”

            “No worries,” Oliver said.

            Connor stared at him for a moment longer, his sad, drunk face, then turned to the teenager. He got his wallet out again and said, “Okay. How much for the giant snowman?”

            She looked up at him, blinked. “It’s free... you won it.”

            “I missed.”

            “How do you think carnival games work?” she asked. “You get one pyramid down in one shot and you win the big prize. It’s not that complicated.”

            Connor stared at her. “You couldn’t have told me that ten minutes ago?”

            She shrugged, then turned to get down the snowman. She handed it over and Connor pressed it into Oliver’s chest. Oliver wrapped his arms around it, nuzzled his face into the top of its head. Connor smiled at him. “Okay. Let’s get you into bed.”

            Oliver mumbled something incoherent, probably something dirty, and Connor wrapped an arm around his waist. The group stumbled towards the parking lot, the aisles cleared of most of the people, the tree still lit up like a beacon behind them. Oliver fell asleep in the car on the ride home and Connor had to carry him into the apartment. He laid him down on the bed, on his side, just in case, and ran a hand through his hair.

            “Goodnight, Ollie,” he whispered. Then he stripped down and slipped into bed beside him. A few seconds later, Oliver rolled over and curled up behind him, his lips lazy on the back of Connor’s neck and then still with the deep breaths of his sleep.


End file.
